


the small mercies

by ellapromachos



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Post Zygerria Arc, Very quick thing, obi-wan is a cook
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:35:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25971454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellapromachos/pseuds/ellapromachos
Summary: When Ahsoka is curious about Tatooine's culture, Obi-Wan makes one of many Tatooini meals he learned.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano
Comments: 12
Kudos: 157





	the small mercies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [curseofmen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curseofmen/gifts).



> for em's birthday even though she's stinky <3

After Zygerria, Ahsoka really just wants to sleep.

The fighting, the exhaustion, the being hung from a metal cage above the city in thin slave robes, the terrible food, all of it was enough to drain every bit of energy from her body. And the Force could only sustain her for so long.

But when Obi-Wan offered to make dinner, it wasn’t like she could say no.

She’d always assumed he was a good cook—he was Obi-Wan, after all—but he’d never cooked. Both the 212th and 501st, Jedi included, lived off of ration bars and the occasional puffed snack. Sometimes her and Barriss would sneak out and buy candy so tart it stopped her from thinking, but Ahsoka mostly ate that in her room while watching Padmé’s trashy holodramas. It was hardly a meal.

This is.

Obi-Wan hums to himself in the kitchen, which Ahsoka didn’t even know the _Resolute_ had until now, stirring some kind of sauce. Charred meat crackles and pops next to him. Ahsoka prefers her meat raw, but she guesses this is how it’s done on Tatooine.

Anakin doesn’t want to talk much about his time on Tatooine, which she understands, but she does wish he would tell her a few things. Ahsoka knew he was from Tatooine and that he hated the planet since her first day as his padawan. She’d assumed it was because of the Hutts, or the crime, or some tragic event. Never slavery, though.

And while she gets not wanting to talk about it, she wants to know. While Obi-Wan cooks and hums to himself, she can only think about asking more. Prodding, really. She shouldn’t, she knows, but there’s a niggling desire inside of her to push until he answers her. _Besides_ , she tells herself, _keeping it to himself won’t help him._

She convinced Obi-Wan to make some Tatooini meal, which smells atrocious so far, but that was the farthest she got. Now, Anakin sits across from her in the mess hall, his cheek smushed against the palm of his hand. She hopes he’ll be more willing when Obi-Wan is done.

All she can see of her grandmaster is his head peeking above the half-wall separating the kitchen and the dispensary line.

“You need any help there, Master?” Ahsoka calls after something clatters to the ground. Obi-Wan mutters before calling back a very insistent ‘no’.

Ahsoka turns back to where Anakin sits in front of her. It should only be a few minutes until everything is done. She clears her throat.

“So. . .”

His eyes flick up to her, “So?”

“Tatooine. About it,” she stumbles. Anakin raises a thick brown eyebrow.

“What about it, Ahsoka?”

“Was it hot?”

She’s been there. She knows it’s hot.

“Yes. Two suns will do that.”

Ahsoka swallows. Her skin still burns from where the slavers touched it, even though they’ve all changed into a clean set of robes. Shirt and leggings, in her case. Yet, Anakin keeps rubbing the hand he used to hold his whip, and Obi-Wan has been oddly quiet.

Being a slave for those days was terrible enough. She can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for Anakin. Growing up on Tatooine, being a slave, being around the Hutts. . .

She tilts her head. “Do you speak Huttese?”

“Yeah. I had to learn Basic when I was a kid,” Anakin mutters, his hand still holding up his head. Ahsoka gapes. Shaak Ti has taught her a bit of Shili, but only simple phrase like ‘my name is Ahsoka,’ and ‘do you speak Basic?’ and ‘where is the nearest restroom?’ and almost none of those are useful for anything other than diplomacy. She leans forward on her elbows, lekku brushing against the table.

“Say something in Huttese.”

Anakin snorts. “Why should I?”

“Because I’m the best padawan in the Order. Say something.”

Anakin rolls his eyes, but she can see him searching his mind for something anyway.

“ _Tooska chai mani,”_ Anakin smiles. Ahsoka grins widely. The days in the Zygerrian sun tanned his skin, but in the white light of the mess hall he looks paler than he did before the mission. “That means you’re my favourite person in the whole galaxy.”

Ahsoka beams, smiling hard enough to make her eyes squeeze shut, before she pauses and pops one open, “That’s not really what it means, is it?”

She can just barely see Anakin smirk. “What do you mean, Snips? I would never lie to you."

“It’s ready!” Obi-Wan raises his voice just loud enough for them to hear, sliding three plates of steaming hot food onto the dispensary line.

Ahsoka hops over the table bench and hurries over to the line. Anakin follows behind her, his footsteps much slower than hers. She stops short in front of the line, smiling widely. Anything other than ration bars is a blessing.

The food was placed into the same standard-issue shallow bowls they always used. Pieces of grilled meat bobbed in a deep red broth—or sauce? Honestly, it was really hard to tell—with specks of green herbs. The meat has distinctive black char marks on both sides, with a strange grey colour. She frowns. Due to her Togruta physiology, she barely likes cooked meat in the first place, much less overcooked meat.

Still, she takes it, along with utensils, and carries it back over to their table. Anakin sits across from her, Obi-Wan next to him.

Anakin digs into the food, relishing it like a man who hasn’t eaten for the better part of two years. Obi-Wan is much more refined, almost to the point of being hesitant.

Ahsoka stabs one of the meat chunks with her fork and holds it up for inspection. She blinks.

“It’s not going to kill you, padawan,” Obi-Wan smiles wryly.

“Yeah,” Anakin jokes dryly, “He’s not _that_ bad of a cook.”

Obi-Wan glares at Anakin, who sticks his tongue out at his old master. Ahsoka sighs and bites into the meat.

It’s oddly chewy, like cartilage, and she curls her lip as she eats it. Maybe the broth will be better?

She sips it, and it’s _fruity_. Combined with the strange sweetness of the broth and the heartiness of the herbs in it, Ahsoka gags. She pushes the meal away from her, smacking her lips as she does.

“Aren’t you going to finish?” Obi-Wan frowns as he picks at his own bowl. Parts of the broth have dripped onto his beard, making any authority he might’ve had disappear.

“Is everything on Tatooine that bad?” Ahsoka asks, scraping off her tongue with the fork. Anakin chortles.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, come on, Anakin. You’re not that bad,” Obi-Wan nudges him.

“I didn’t include myself when I said that,” Anakin wipes off his mouth as he finishes his meal. The mess hall is entirely empty, so she can hear the nuance in his tone as he says, “Weren’t you the one who called me a ‘pathetic life form’?”

Obi-Wan sours. “I never should’ve told you that.”

“I don’t know what you were thinking when you did.”

“Back up,” Ahsoka makes a cutting gesture with her hands, “You called Anakin a pathetic life form?”

“I was a different person.”

“Different person my ass,” Anakin grabs Ahsoka’s bowl and begins to eat the meat in that one too. She shivers.

“Language.”

For that one, Anakin slurps extra loud.

Anakin smiles. They are back to normal now, which seems good, but Anakin’s smile fades a bit too quickly. He eats not like he likes the meal, but because he seems desperate. Ahsoka looks at the grey meat in Obi-Wan’s meat. Maybe it was so chewy because it was all they could afford. And maybe the herbs were medicinal.

It wasn’t meant to be good, it was meant to be sustaining. It was a slave’s meal—one Anakin clearly didn’t enjoy.

Ahsoka waits until her master has paused before, in the softest tone she can muster, says, “Are you okay, Master?”

Anakin sets his bowl down. “Yeah. Don’t worry about me, padawan.”

The corners of his mouth twitch up but don’t quite form a smile. Ahsoka smiles sadly. Her master has never been a good liar but for his sake, she pretends to believe him. In between the horrors of the war and the Jedi, these are her small mercies.

**Author's Note:**

> very very quick thing i smashed out because it's late and my back hurts and by the time i wake up it will no longer be her birthday


End file.
